


Clockwork and Stars

by shadow_lover



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Csevet POV, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Loyalty Kink, M/M, Mutual Pining, Symbolic Nail Lacquer, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5451623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, and only once, he allowed himself a whimper. The sound echoed and echoed, childish and small, and he choked off the next sound before he fell apart. </p><p>Instead he prayed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clockwork and Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [V_V_lala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_V_lala/gifts).



> To Osmin V_V_lala, greetings:
> 
> We thank you for your inspiring requests, and we hope you enjoy this token of our well-wishes. We desire nothing more than your happiness this Yuletide.
> 
> We also wish to express our endless gratitude to [Island_of_Reil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil), whose assistance as our beta was invaluable.
> 
> With hopefulness,  
> Anonymous

Csevet’s nails were barely dry when Esha knocked on his door.

“Mer Aisava, His Serenity requires you,” he said, as if he would call on Csevet for any other reason.

“Thank you, Esha.” Csevet tugged his jacket carefully over his arms, wary of smudging the pale green lacquer before it set completely.

“That's not your usual color,” remarked Esha, gesturing to the tiny jar on the table. Of the edocharei, Csevet had noticed, it was Esha who always chose His Serenity’s nail lacquer, and it seemed he had a keen eye for styles around the court.

“We thought it appropriate to choose something new for the season,” Csevet said, and he ushered the edocharis from the room ahead of himself.

He found His Serenity in the Tortoise Room, deep in conversation with his second nohecharei. Lieutenant Telimezh stood at the emperor’s right, leaning in to say something very quietly. His brow was furrowed in concern. To the left, Kiru Athmaza was clearly listening as she scanned the room. Edrehasivar’s jade-ringed ears hung low. Though his skin was too dark to show a blush, he had that wide, shifting look to his eyes that Csevet had long since learned signaled embarrassment. Telimezh fell silent before Csevet could make out anything of their discussion.

Edrehasivar’s ears flicked up. “Thank you, Csevet,” he said. “We apologize for calling you so late.”

Mortified, Csevet began, “Serenity, you need—” but then stopped as he recognized the impish look in the emperor’s eyes. Maia was _teasing_ him. He felt his cheeks heat and hoped he wasn’t blushing too badly. From the way Kiru and Telimezh were studiously avoiding his gaze, his hope was likely in vain.

 _Not “Maia,”_ Csevet scolded himself. _His Serenity. Edrehasivar Zhas. Needst show respect in thy thoughts as well as thy speech._

His Serenity did not grin, though his lips twitched as if he might. “We have received word by pneumatic of a disturbance at the office of the Cetho Workers League.”

“What sort of disturbance, Serenity?”

The emperor passed him the letter. “Vandalism. Mer Dalavar assures us that everything is well, but…” He folded his hands on the table. “We suspect that he says so only to allay our concerns.”

“We will visit the office and ascertain that all is well,” said Csevet, bowing slightly. There had been rumors of unrest throughout Cetho this spring, and it was not unlikely the league might become a target for those displeased with the policies of Edrehasivar VII. “Shall we convey our findings over breakfast, Serenity?”

“We would prefer tonight,” admitted Edrehasivar. “Though we fear our edocharei will be grievously offended should we neglect our bed too long.”

“We will be quick, then,” said Csevet. He was blushing still, he knew it. Simple words, yet in Edrehasivar’s light voice— _our bed_ —Csevet felt like a clockwork doll with one gear slipped out of alignment. Stuck on a memory of Edrehasivar, nightdress near slipping over his shoulder, eyes haunted, dark curls falling from the braid down his back.

 _An canst not control thyself, thou ought arrange passage to a monastery._ He was uncomfortably aware of Kiru Athmaza’s eyes on him as he fled the room.

-

There was no sign of vandalism at the Cetho Workers League, and nobody in the office to answer when Csevet knocked. He hurried back towards the palace on ill-lit streets. Half the lanterns were broken overhead.

He was only three blocks from the league’s office when he spied four men clustered at a corner. The street lantern above them lit their pale skin and near-white hair—all were full-blooded elves. Two of the men had the look of struggling courtiers, and from a distance he thought he recognized a fourth son of the Sazhada.

Only as he drew very near did he realize all four were eyeing his approach.

Csevet spun and tried too late to bolt. A hard hand around his forearm dragged him back. He would have fallen were it not for the other three men grabbing him as well, pulling him up and over to shove against the wall. His forehead rang against brick. He opened his mouth but had no breath to scream. He struggled, tried to twist his limbs out of the grasping hands.

He got his left arm free and struck out at the nearest face. His nails dug into flesh for only a moment before another man caught his arm again and slammed it up into the wall.

Csevet heard the crack before he felt the agony boil down his arm. He stiffened with the shock of it, and his assailants took the opportunity to bind a strip of dark, heavy fabric over his eyes and shove another piece of cloth between his teeth. 

Next followed a long blur of darkness. They half-dragged, half-carried him, and every step sparked fresh pain along his arm. The world lurched. His head lurched. He tasted bile at the back of his tongue and could hardly breathe for nausea.

He wondered that they were so long on the streets. Surely someone would see them, would call out, would summon the guard—but no one did. Csevet recognized the reek of back alleys and knew they were in the slums.

Then he saw light along the edge of the heavy cloth, and the air was warmer. They were indoors.

They dragged him stumbling down a steep set of stairs. He was passed from one cruel pair of hands to another. The new bruises barely registered through the haze of pain.

A door creaked, and the floor flattened out again. The hands flung him down, and he fell hard to his knees. Csevet barely paused before shoving himself up from the cold floor, arm screaming, and lunging at his captors. But, dazed and blinded, he staggered into nothing. His captors quickly caught his arms and yanked his wrists forward.

Something cold closed and clicked tight around his wrists. Once he was cuffed, the rough hands yanked the cloth from around his head and out from his mouth. He coughed, blinked against the light, and tried to examine his captors. Any detail he could remember—if anyone found him—

There were only three. One stood at his back, pressed far too close and reeking of old sweat. Another was poised at the doorway to the staircase. The third was the man he’d recognized. Anvis Sazhadar, or Anva Sazhadar. He held Csevet by the handcuffs and leered down at him. His eyes were a watery blue, but for one heart-stilling moment Csevet saw another’s eyes, as dark as night. The memory passed but left him shaking in its wake.

“String him up to the ceiling?” asked the man at his back. “We could have some fun with him.”

“We don’t have time for that,” snapped the man at the door. “Just hook him to the floor. We can’t rough him up too bad if we want anything out of this.”

Csevet hissed, “You’ll get _nothing_ out of this.”

Sazhadar reached behind his head. His fingers were almost tender as they pulled the tashin sticks from Csevet’s hair. “These will go with our letter to the halfbreed.”

“What do you want?” he asked, as they manhandled him backwards. It was only a few paces before they hit a wall and shoved Csevet again to the packed dirt floor. Pain rang through his head and flared through his arm. Csevet saw an iron ring low on the stone wall, with a chain attached.

“Do you know how hard it is to kidnap an emperor’s family?” asked Sazhadar. His breath stank of metheglin, but his hands were steady as he locked the chain to Csevet’s handcuffs. “And so easy to take a secretary.”

Someone else laughed. “We expect the hobgoblin will ransom you handsomely.”

“He won’t,” said Csevet. His Serenity could not negotiate with men such as these. He dearly hoped Kiru Athmaza or Lieutenant Beshelar or Lord Berenar or _someone_ would keep Edrehasivar from acting rashly.

“Not at first,” agreed Sazhadar. “But as the days pass, we feel his resolve will dwindle.”

Csevet stifled his laughter for fear it would spiral into hysteria. They did not know Maia—Edrehasivar—well, if they thought his resolve would weaken. Whether or not Csevet survived this, these men would not get whatever they sought. The thought was comforting.

And he was in sore need of comfort when they left him to kneel in the dark and cold. After the door shut the light away and his captors’ footsteps faded from the stairs, he could hear nothing beyond his own shuddering breaths. His head ached so fiercely, and his arm—the pain near white enough to light the room—

He swayed on his knees. Mindful of his arm, he shuffled backwards until he sat propped against the wall. The chill of the rough stone seeped through him, and he shivered.

The room was so dark, he didn’t realize when his eyes closed.

-

Csevet woke, and he knew where he was. He wondered how long he had slept. He shifted, and with that movement the cuffs yanked at his wrists. Pain shot up his left arm, and he cursed.

Alone and bruised in the dark, he scolded himself regardless. His language reflected on the emperor, and it would not do to develop bad habits.

He was already chained to the floor like a dog. He could not suffer further indignity.

 _Like a dog._ His mind drifted to a conversation last week with Echelo Esaran. She was inspecting the kitchens, he had stopped by after His Serenity retired for the evening, and she’d offered him a cup of tea.

“Edrehasivar’s Lapdog, they’re calling you,” she’d said, her words swirling through the peppermint steam.

Csevet had laughed. “We’ve heard. Though we really think we’re more a retriever than a lapdog.”

Echelo hadn’t laughed. She rarely did. “Whatever breed you are, you’re working too hard. You have not been yourself since taking this job.” Some might be surprised to hear the concern hidden under her voice, but Csevet knew her better. Stern glare aside, Echelo Esaran knew that a household could not run well on servants run ragged.

“It is no longer merely our job,” he said quietly, aware of the other servants bustling about the kitchen.

“Then what is it?”

And Csevet couldn’t answer without betraying himself. He simply shrugged and sipped from his too-hot tea.

Here in the cold dark of the cellar, though, chained to the floor, he could confess the answer. His service to Edrehasivar was not a job. It bordered on obsession—anyone could see that—but Csevet thought _obsession_ an unkind term for it.

He’d heard clerics speak of the call they felt to serve the gods. Their deep and undeniable knowledge that they were destined to the priesthoods, that this was the gods’ intention for their lives.

Their vocation.

That was the nearest term Csevet had ever heard to describe his devotion. He had never done and would never do a better thing in his life than give himself completely to his emperor’s service.

For however much he gave, Edrehasivar gave far more. It was all Csevet could do to keep up.

-

The thud of heavy boots and the creak of the door stirred Csevet again. His heart leapt in hope, then sank. _Foolish._ He squinted, struggling to adjust to the light while the man approached.

The man bent over him, grabbed his neck, fingers tight under his jaw. He inspected Csevet’s face closely, and he must have found what he was looking for because he smiled.

Csevet glared. He had nothing to say.

“No need to pin thine ears back, pretty thing,” sneered the man. He was the one who’d suggested chaining Csevet to the ceiling the day before. At least, Csevet thought it was the day before. He hadn’t gone hungry in so many years, he’d forgotten how to tell time by the pangs in his belly.

The man fumbled at his belt. Csevet flinched backwards despite the tightening grip on his throat—but the man merely unhooked a flask and lifted it up. “Can’t have thee dying on us,” he said, unscrewing the cap with one hand.

The metal was cold between his lips. Csevet closed his eyes as he opened his mouth. He couldn’t face the man as he gulped down the tepid water, couldn’t risk any gratitude showing pathetic in his eyes. The water spilled too fast down his throat, and he choked.

The man laughed and pulled the flask away. His fingers tightened around Csevet’s throat. “Thought wouldst be better at swallowing. The things we’ve heard about thee—well.”

Trembling, Csevet kept his eyes closed. His breath came shallow under the iron grip. He wished he had His Serenity’s innate aptitude for meditation, some way to seek calm and still his racing pulse. All he could do was shudder as the grip softened from his throat, as fingers traced gentle down the lines of his neck before falling away.

The man procured a key and unlocked the chain. Csevet’s hands were still cuffed, but he was no longer tethered to the floor.

His head dropped down to his chest. He heard and felt the man heaving to his feet, heard him turn away. Csevet opened his eyes in time to look at his wrists pinned down before him, skin rubbed raw and pink, before the door closed and the light vanished.

-

As spring first crept through the Elflands, Csevet had sought His Serenity in the garden. The afternoon had started warm before chilling quickly, and Csevet stopped on his way through the Alcethmeret to make a request of Avris.

With the fur robe bundled in his arms, he entered the garden. The flowers were on the cusp of blooming, and the trees were bright and soft with new leaves. Csevet spotted Cala first, tall in his faded blue robe, then Beshelar further along. His Serenity sat on a marble bench some paces away from them, staring across the still surface of the pond. His left hand made a small movement over his right, and Csevet knew he was fidgeting with his signet ring. He did that sometimes, though Csevet didn’t know if he was aware of it.

He couldn’t stand staring forever. Cala was looking at him strangely. Csevet took one step forward, and the shift of gravel under his foot startled the emperor. He didn’t jump, no, but his shoulders stiffened under his light day robe.

“Csevet,” he said, and his voice was warm as the day was cold. “Would you sit with us?”

Edrehasivar had only to command. He never would. Csevet held out the robe. “If you would put this on, Serenity?”

His Serenity sighed and nodded.

Csevet stepped closer, standing right behind his emperor with his back to Cala and Beshelar. If he blushed as he draped the fur robe over the Maia’s shoulders, no one would see. He smoothed the folds of fabric into place, felt the angles of birdlike bones beneath the fur. So thin, no matter how Ebremis tried to feed him. It was no wonder he was always so cold.

So thin, and so still beneath his hands. Csevet drew back. When he moved around to sit on the bench, the marble was just as still, and His Serenity’s face was carefully blank. 

“Of what were you thinking, Serenity?” asked Csevet.

Edrehasivar glanced over. He hadn’t quite lost that shyness about him. “We were thinking of time,” he said. “We have been emperor five months now, yet sometimes it feels like only yesterday we met you at Edonomee.”

Sometimes, when they didn’t realize he could hear, servants and courtiers alike remarked on how Edrehasivar Zhas had changed since his arrival at the Untheileneise Court. That he had grown brave, which was a compliment or indictment depending on the speaker. Csevet marveled at how blind they were, not to have seen that bravery from the very beginning.

“Has it felt so brief to you?”

 _Every hour stretches into years when you look on us. It feels we have served you all our life._ But he answered aloud, “We preoccupy ourselves too thoroughly with the hours and days to lose count of them, Serenity.”

A leaf fell onto Edrehasivar’s shoulder. Before he could think better of it, he reached to pluck it up from the fur-lined robe. Maia started, eyes wide, then focused on the tiny leaf twirling between Csevet’s fingers.

The leaf was delicate, soft between his fingertips, and near the palest green he’d ever seen in a plant. A breath of springtime made solid in his grasp.

“The color suits you,” said Maia quietly.

Csevet fought to keep his ears still, but he feared they twitched regardless. He didn’t know what to say.

Edrehasivar tensed. “What brings you out here?”

A letter from Lord Berenar, but the answer caught in Csevet’s throat. He swallowed. “It will wait,” he said.

Maia smiled, and the garden warmed.

-

Csevet shivered. 

He rose once to make use of the bucket in the corner, and the process of undressing was so painful and frustrating that afterwards he could not even bother tucking his shirt back in. He then walked the perimeter in a futile hunt for something, anything that could help. Nothing. He sat down again. Best to conserve energy, as by all appearances his captors did not intend to feed him.

 _Good. An they intend not to feed thee, they have less cause to visit thee._ His thoughts shied away from the rest of that fear.

Once, and only once, he allowed himself a whimper. The sound echoed and echoed, childish and small, and he choked off the next sound before he fell apart.

Instead he prayed.

Csevet was not a pious man; he needed no othasmeire to find calm. But hunger clawed his gut to ribbons, every movement of arm or head led to agony or nausea, and he prayed.

First he prayed to Cstheio, that she might see him or that he might see a way forward. He recited prayers, or fragments of prayers, the same line over and over, an echo in his clouded thoughts. He strained his eyes in the darkness, seeking even a glimmer of starlight. Cstheio Caireizhasan did not answer.

Nor did Csaivo answer when he called on her. Csevet begged and begged and his prayers swept from him in a river of silence. He asked small things. A moment’s lessening of pain. The cuffs’ loosening on his wrists. Sazhadar’s return with something he could eat. Sometimes he spoke aloud and only knew because the movement hurt his throat.

He could not pray to Ulis. He had all he could wish of dark and silence.

As his hunger faded into a cold, sick lightness, he thought of Maia. Dark hair, stubborn lips, the only miracle Csevet had ever met. If his thoughts turned again to prayer, he could blame the blasphemy on his delirium.

-

The emperor, Corazhas, secretaries, and clockmakers peered intently as Merrem Halezho set the clockwork in motion.

Only Csevet watched the emperor, for he cared little for clockwork, and only Csevet caught the moment when Edrehasivar leaned in, entranced, eyes shining. His soft lips so slightly parted, thin face lit with wonder, he was a star come down to earth. He was neither child nor man but something eternally bright.

And Csevet could neither breathe nor blink. There was a spark lit within his ribs that had nothing to do with the maza’s gift.

He was never more grateful for the invisibility of his position. Had any of the Corazhas or clockmakers or secretaries turned to look at Csevet, they would have seen in his expression the same wonder with which Maia gazed on the clockwork bridge.

In that bright-burning moment he knew he had fallen.

-

Csevet flinched awake. Something clattered on the stairs above. Shouted obscenities, the unmistakable crack of magic.

He uncurled from his place on the floor, pushing himself up with only his right arm. He wanted to stand but his limbs shook, so he had to lean back against the wall.

At least he wasn't chained down any more when the guards broke in. He blinked against the sudden light.

Later, he would not remember much of the following half hour. It was all he could do to mumble coherent answers as they looked him over. When someone took hold of his left arm, he choked down a whimper. When they twisted and _shoved_ the bone back into place, he fainted. He came to moments later as gentle hands tied the sling around his neck. Someone else tipped a flask to his lips, and he may have been impolite enough to snatch it away and hold it himself.

As his sight cleared and the pain in his arm subsided to a dull ache, he began identifying his rescuers. The group was led by Captain Orthema, who came and went from the room in a flurry of commands. Two mazei accompanied the guardsmen, though one soon vanished up the stairs. Besides the guardsman binding his arm, there were perhaps half a dozen more.

Captain Orthema returned. “Everything's clear. There were only two upstairs, and they're both dead.”

“There were four,” said Csevet.

“Then we’ll find the other two next. For now, though,” and he addressed his guards, “let's get Mer Aisava back to the palace.”

Two guards reached to help him.

“We can walk,” snapped Csevet, pushing from the wall. Something was wrong with his hearing, though, because the words sounded more like a mumble.

But the guards stepped back regardless, and only one put a hand to Csevet’s elbow. Csevet swayed for a moment, vision darkening, then stood still. When his sight cleared, he nodded. The guard released his arm.

Bad enough the captain and his guardsmen saw him in such a state. He couldn’t bear the thought of assorted townsfolk, servants, and nobility seeing him bundled around town like an infant. The indignity would reflect poorly on the imperial household.

Csevet reached up to tuck his loose hair behind his ears, then succumbed to the inevitable and pulled free the last remains of his topknot. Better to have his hair completely loose around his shoulders than a sloppy, half-pinned knot. His hair was tangled, but that could not be helped.

“Ready?” asked Captain Orthema.

Csevet took a deep breath. Physically, he wasn’t sure he _was_ ready—but the thought of even another moment in the cellar made him want to vomit. He stumbled forward, two guards following close behind, and took to the stairs. Twice he swayed and nearly fell, but he caught himself before the guardsmen could steady him. Slowly, trembling, he made his way upwards.

-

The palace halls were empty save the increased guard presence. It must be very late, Csevet realized, hours past midnight. He was about to ask what time it was when Captain Orthema spoke to one of his men.

“Run ahead and let His Serenity know we’re coming.”

“Wait,” protested Csevet, but the man was already off at a run.

Orthema looked at him, ears tilted. “What is it?”

Csevet stopped and shook his head. The guards clattered to a halt around him. “It is far too late. His Serenity will be asleep.”

Orthema continued staring, eyebrows lifted as if he thought Csevet had gone mad in that cellar. “You must have been hit harder in the head than we thought, if you think His Serenity has slept at all the past three days.”

Csevet blinked. He hardly noticed as the captain got him moving again down the hall.

If the emperor hadn’t been sleeping, Csevet was going to have a stern conversation with the nohecharei and edocharei alike. They couldn’t let His Serenity stay up like that. It wasn’t good for him. He worked himself into the ground, and Csevet knew he didn’t eat well when he was tired. 

The iron grilles of the Alcethmeret were shut, but they marched up the staircase regardless. As they passed the lower level where Csevet’s room waited, Csevet’s heart pounded.

He had to pause on the second landing, right hand flung out to clutch the rail as the stairs spun before him. Captain Orthema did not comment, merely waited until Csevet was ready before resuming the climb.

The Tortoise Room was filled to the brim with people—more guards, Lord Berenar, Sehalis Athmaza, Captain Vizhenka, apparently the entire complement of goblin guards left by the Great Avar. Hardly a surface was visible beneath scattered papers. The air was loud with some great argument Csevet was too dizzy to grasp.

When he entered they fell silent. All faces turned towards him, but none of them the face he sought.

“Oh, thank the gods,” muttered Lord Berenar, sounding more exasperated than anything else, and the room exploded again into exclamations.

Csevet’s ears flattened, and he fought the impulse to cover them. The noise hurt after three days of near silence. But these were his colleagues and his superiors, and he forced himself to remain upright, to lift his chin. He waved off a helping hand, he didn’t know whose, as he made his way towards the table. He caught only fragments. “—so glad you’re—” “This won’t be—” “—this close to—” “Now he’ll stop—”

He was about to sit down when the room hushed again. Csevet turned and saw his emperor frozen in the doorway, with Cala Athmaza and Lieutenant Beshelar at his back. Clad all over in white and silver, from the pearls strung through his hair to the silver leaves embroidered on his slippers, Edrehasivar caught the light of every lantern and reflected it tenfold.

The relief was so warm and sudden that Csevet’s breath stilled. This was real; he was home.

But his joy faded. Beyond the glittering gems, Csevet saw exhaustion circling dark under Edrehasivar’s red-rimmed eyes. His skin was a paler gray than Csevet had ever seen it, and there was a worrying tension to his jaw. He was wound so tightly Csevet feared he might fly apart at the barest touch.

“Serenity,” said Csevet, and sketched as deep a bow as he could manage without toppling over.

When he straightened, Edrehasivar’s eyes looked redder still, but his ears had lifted. The emperor broke eye contact and looked around the room. “We will interview our secretary in our chambers,” he announced, and Csevet was proud when His Serenity’s voice didn’t waver. “See we are not disturbed.”

By the time Csevet crossed the room, His Serenity had already departed with Beshelar. Cala hung back to surreptitiously take Csevet by the elbow as soon as the door closed behind them. “It is good to see you, Mer Aisava.”

“Thank you,” said Csevet absently. His attention was fixed on Edrehasivar’s back, narrow shoulders draped in stiff silk. The way his thumb twisted the signet on his ring finger. “Why were they all meeting in the Alcethmeret? This should be His Serenity’s sanctuary.”

If Cala caught the faint accusation intended, he had the grace to ignore it. “His Serenity insisted. He wanted all the papers near at hand, and it was all we could do to keep him from holding war council in his bedchamber.” He spoke in plural, and Csevet wondered how many it had taken to persuade His Serenity this time. “Please, Mer Aisava, watch your step.”

Perhaps it was coincidence that Edrehasivar glanced back at them then. His face looked so thin over his shoulder. Csevet endeavored to keep his balance under the flash of dizzying silver gaze.

When Csevet and Cala reached the emperor’s rooms, they passed the departing edocharei in the doorway. Esha pressed Csevet’s hand for just a moment.

“Sit,” said the emperor. Every line of his body was tense, like a frightened animal.

Csevet was glad to obey. He sat in the nearest chair, by His Serenity’s vanity. A glance at the mirror startled him. His hair stuck out in all directions, and there were pins still stuck in the tangles. A necklace of bruises circled his neck. He didn’t remember anyone cleaning the scrape where his forehead had hit the wall, but someone must have.

Edrehasivar hovered nearby, eyes fixed on Csevet’s arm, on his hands, anywhere but his eyes. He stood just out of reach. “They hurt you.”

Csevet ran his free hand along his bound arm, feeling the hard lines of the splint beneath the sling. “Yes,” he said. “But we will heal soon. Serenity, please forgive us, but you look ill. You should rest.”

Edrehasivar stared, his disbelief eerily similar to Captain Orthema’s. “ _We_ should rest?” There was an edge of hysteria to his voice. “No, gods, _you_ should rest, and we are keeping you from that. We should not have called you here. It’s just that we—” Maia took a deep, shaking breath. “I’ve—we’ve been lost without you.”

The words hung clear and terrifying in the air. Csevet wondered for what Edrehasivar Zhas had prayed these past three days. But he did not dare hope, and so he grasped at propriety. “You should not be. There are other secretaries—”

Maia laughed, and it sounded broken. “You are more than a secretary to us. We hoped you knew that."

Every second seemed to stretch before Csevet, an abyss into which he was bound to fall. He said, “We thought of you in the darkness.”

There was more. He yearned to say more, but his tongue was heavy in his mouth, and his heart raced. He was more afraid than he’d ever been.

Maia’s lips tightened, and he blinked rapidly before speaking again. “You should not have been held so long. You should not have been taken. We should have kept you safe.”

“Serenity, you are not at fault.”

“We sent you out! We feared we had lost you, without ever saying—” Maia froze, pale, and his hands trembled. His voice trembled, too, when he said, “Without ever saying how I need thee.”

A veil had fallen from between them. Csevet knew he should look away from the naked honesty on Maia’s face, but he could not tear his eyes away. 

Brave, stubborn, shaking, Maia said, “Thou’rt all I think of.”

And then, with perfect, slow control, the emperor knelt at Csevet’s feet.

Csevet’s eyes widened, and his heart nearly stopped.

There was a muffled grunt across the room. Csevet glanced up to see Cala holding Beshelar back. The soldier looked aghast; the maza’s expression was altogether less legible.

“Serenity,” whispered Csevet. “Your nohecharei—”

“They know how I feel,” said Maia miserably. His chin tucked down, gray eyes hidden under dark lashes. One hand grasped the edge of the vanity. His knuckles were pale beneath pearl and silver rings.

Csevet could never stand to see His Serenity hurting, and in his exhaustion he was not strong enough keep himself from reaching out. Presumptuous, his fingertips, cracked pale green lacquer, against the back of Maia’s hand. He didn't dare look up, but there was no sound of movement from either nohecharis. He _did_ dare to slide his shaking fingers further, to circle about Maia’s wrist.

So thin an arm to so tightly pull his leash.

“I am thine,” he said, “entirely.”

Maia looked up, and Csevet lost the capacity for breath. For thought. For Maia’s eyes shone like the stars themselves, lips parted, a darkness ghosting along his cheekbones, his eyes so wide and so bright Csevet could see nothing else. 

It was the same expression of wonder with which he’d looked at the model bridge those few months ago, and in _this_ moment Csevet could fly.

He let go Maia’s wrist to trace a slow path up his arm. At the edge of his vision he saw Beshelar turning away, Cala’s hand on his shoulder. Csevet’s broken fingernails snagged on fine embroidery. As his touch reached the end of the stiff collar and the first stretch of smooth neck, Maia’s shudder burned hot through his veins.

Csevet bent, heedless of the pain in his arm, and pulled Maia up to him. Maia’s eyelids fluttered closed and he melted into Csevet’s touch. His hands braced against the chair arms on either side of Csevet, and when they kissed, Csevet was no longer afraid. He would endure any bruises if he could only have this: soft lips, racing pulse, Maia’s, Csevet’s, Csevet heard no difference in their heartbeats. Lips softening further under his. Csevet groaned and knew that after this moment, he could never think of Maia as Edrehasivar again—yet he would always be Csevet’s serenity.

Head spinning, Csevet pulled away to breathe. To tuck his face into Maia’s neck and inhale the scent of sage and lavender. 

“Shouldst sleep,” Maia murmured, lips tickling Csevet’s ear.

“Yes, Serenity.” The deep ache within him would not let him remain upright long. He needed sleep. Perhaps something to eat. “But not yet,” he said, for he needed nothing so much as the delicate jaw beneath his palm, the stars reflected from silver eyes, breath warm as a prayer against his lips.

And he pulled Maia close to kiss again.


End file.
